


Questions of a Thousand Dreams

by beanside



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 03:15:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4375052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanside/pseuds/beanside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John expected differently after the white light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Questions of a Thousand Dreams

Funny. He'd expected a lot of things when he'd felt the pull. Obliteration. Ending up back in hell. Maybe even harps and clouds. But this?

This was an abandoned truck stop. Okay, it was an oddly foggy truck stop. With weird shapes moving through the mist, and a light breeze that didn't seem to affect anything.

John slowly came to his feet, which felt pretty solid to him. But maybe all those things in the mist felt solid, too. No way to tell.

"Hello?" he called, feeling like a damn idiot. "Anyone here?"

The mist wavered, pulling away from him. In the distance, by the abandoned diner, he saw a flash of movement. His steps carried him over quickly, the ground solid under his feet. "You can come out," he said gruffly. Considering how many ghosts he'd offed, he couldn't blame them for hesitating. "I won't hurt you."

"I know," a gentle voice murmured from behind him. "I always knew."

John spun, his knees giving just a little as she smiled up at him. "Mary?"

The corners of her eyes crinkled, just like they used to when she was happy. "Yes and no."

Tensing, John looked at her critically. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, John," she whispered. "There's so much to tell you. And we don't have much time."

"Why? Isn't this--" John looked around. "What the hell is this, anyway?"

Instead of answering straight away, she moved around him and sat on the stairs. He got a gratifying flash of leg as her nightgown shifted. "When did we meet, John?"

"Is that supposed to be a trick question? We met July 2, 1973."

"No. We really didn't. I met you in December of 1970." Her blue eyes were sad, resigned to his anger. Like the night she came out of their bathroom with a pregnancy test. Like then, it made his hands ache to soothe her down, promise her that everything would be all right. "Outside of Laos."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The cantina just off base, remember? Private Trotter's whore for the night?"

John took a wary step back. "She was Vietnamese."

Mary nodded. "She was me. I was her. And you tried to save me from him. But I didn't need saving, John. He did."

"What--" John stopped short. "He was dead the next morning. So was the girl. Got hit with a mortar round. You-"

"I was his Reaper, John." She looked down. "I was a lot of people's Reaper. And I watched you. So strong and kind, even in the face of such inhumanity. You never forgot that you were there to help. And then, the orders came down to take you. And I couldn't."

"You--but. Mary," he whispered, pleading.

"I made a deal. With him. The demon."

John's eyes widened. "No."

"Yes. The last soul I reaped was on July 2, 1973. A vapid girl by the name of Mary Stanton, pampered princess and bitchy prom queen, who didn't know how to put jumper cables on her car right."

John closed his eyes, remembering the day. A young boy's maybe scream as John stepped off the bus, the sparks from the wires connecting the cars, and the beautiful girl crumpling to the ground, electricity still jittering through her body.

"I took her place," Mary said, relentless. "And you brought me to life."

He'd given her CPR, tended her until the paramedics came. And then, with her still shocky and lost, he'd ridden with her, held her hand.

A year later, he'd married her.

"Oh, fuck," he said. "Oh, Christ. You're a reaper?"

"Not anymore. Now I'm just a soul stuck in the middle." Mary folded her hands over her knee, watching him. "I made a deal with a demon, John. That normally gets you an all expenses paid trip below. But it was for love. And love is never wrong. Screwed up, maybe, but not wrong. So here I am. Purgatory of my own making, until... well, until. Unfinished business. You know the drill."

"And me?"

"Same, but different. You've done a lot of good. But you've made mistakes, too."

"The deal was not a mistake," John bit off. "It was our son, and I won't apologize for that-"

"I know." Mary reached out, laying her fingers over his clenched fists. "I know. But there are other things you need to make it right. I don't know how long they're giving you, and you won't know until the end of it whether you fixed the right things or not."

John sighed, gesturing at the mists. It looked like a high school production of Dracula, now that he thought of it. Or Our Town, when Sammy's auditorium had been choking with 'mist' that smelled like pina coladas. John hadn't been up on his theater, but he was pretty sure Our Town didn't take place in Margaritaville. "How the hell am I supposed to do that here?"

"You'll see." Mary smiled nervously. "I love you, John. I always have. That much never changed."

John stared. His wife. A Reaper. Deals with demons. His Mary.

He didn't have a second chance for this. He leaned forward, looping his arms around her and lifting her to her feet. "I love you too, baby. I miss you every damn day."

"Me too." Tears slid down her cheeks. "Our boys, John. They're just like their daddy. Strong, and brave, and so damn good."

"I made a lot of mistakes. With both of them, but especially Dea--Wait." John tensed. "Dean. He made a deal-- the demon told me, taunted me with-- he's only got a year."

Mary laid a hand on his cheek. "I know."

"Let me take the punishment. I can handle it. My soul for his," John said desperately.

"Doesn't work that way, John."

"I--not Dean. God, please-"

"Ssh. The answer'll come." Mary leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. "I have to go now. Take care of our boys."

Before he could answer, pain streaked through John, pressure building against his skin until he thought he'd pass out. The mist returned, wrapping around him, tightening until it stole his breath, his sight. Then with a last agonizing tearing, it dissipated, leaving him swaying, clutching the railing at the foot of the stairs for balance.

"Excuse me."

John's head whipped around, staring at the kid who was waiting impatiently behind him. "Huh?" The mist was gone, he realized, leaving pale sunlight on the pitted blacktop, the rumble of a tractor trailer passing by. Everything seemed solid. Real.

He pinched his wrist, and a stab of pain made his eyes widen, as did the pulse beneath the skin. He seemed... alive.

"Dude, move. If I don't get coffee, I'm going to slit my wrists. I've got an exam at ten." The kid peeked from behind dark glasses. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah. I think so." John stumbled back, out of his way. "Sorry. Long night."

The kid gave him a thumbs up. "Go you."

John managed a smile, and headed towards the payphone at the corner of the lot. Bobby. He would try Bobby.

A movement behind the glass of the corner booth caught his attention, a white blur flying through the air, and-

Sam ducked, catching the sugar packet and winging it back, a smile on his lips. His Sam. His boy.

Hardly daring to breathe, John looked at the occupant of the other seat.

Dean smirked, dumping the sugar in his coffee, rolling his eyes at something Sam said.

Oh Christ. His boys. He could... but could they see him?

As though he could feel someone's eyes on them, Sam looked out the window. John caught his breath as their eyes locked and the color drained from his face.

He ducked quickly against the building before Dean could look. He couldn't handle that, couldn't handle if that was one of Sam's powers, and his boy, his Dean couldn't--

"Dad?" Dean whispered from beside him, voice tight.

John lifted his head, smiling at his sons, at the way they flanked him, the holy water in Sam's hand, the gun in Dean's. For Purgatory, this was looking pretty good. "Hey, boys."


End file.
